


The harder they fall

by fromthedeskoftheraven



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, Minor Injuries, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-17
Packaged: 2018-08-09 09:54:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromthedeskoftheraven/pseuds/fromthedeskoftheraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An injury forces Dwalin to confess his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The harder they fall

“A word with you.”

The phrase was gritted out irritably by the imposing figure that loomed above you, and Ori quickly looked to you with uncertainty in his eyes.

“It’s fine, Ori,” you said, giving the young dwarf a reassuring smile. “Thank you for keeping me company.”

“I’ll be nearby if you need anything at all, miss.” Ori made a vague attempt at an intimidating look, but hurriedly skittered away when Dwalin’s bushy eyebrows met in a scowl in response.

“Would you care to sit?” You gestured to the tree stump Ori had just vacated, but Dwalin only huffed disdainfully and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

“How’s the arm?” He asked curtly, nodding his head toward the makeshift sling Oin had created for you out of a torn tunic.

“Nothing broken, thankfully, just a bad sprain. It’s OK.”

**“It’s not ‘OK!’”** The words burst from him in frustration, his arms coming uncrossed in a convulsive movement. “That filth could have crushed you like a dry leaf. What were you thinking of?”

“Saving your life, I expect,” you said dryly. 

Dwalin paced two steps away and then back again, jabbing his finger in your direction. “You come traipsing into this world without so much as a weapon to your name, letting a wizard’s airy words convince you to join this quest, and now you try to get yourself killed, stepping in front of a goblin’s club? For me?” He leaned closer, biting out each word of reproach. “Reckless, foolhardy… _maddening_.”

Bristling, you rose from the large rock that served you as a seat. “I am a member of this company, same as you,” you pointed out, “which means fighting when I have to, which means saving your grumpy arse given the chance, whether you like it or not.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Well, forgive me for not wanting you to die.”

Brawny hands abruptly clasped your shoulders, and a wild, pained expression crossed Dwalin’s face. “Don’t you know I’d rather die than see anything happen to you?”

His words hung in the air, shocking you both into silence, and your mind whirled, straining to understand but finding that a reasonable explanation lingered just out of reach.

Dwalin released you to step back, his chest heaving as he ran his hand helplessly over his beard. His voice grew hoarse, nearly choking out, “I think I’m in love with you and that scares the hell out of me.”

“In love?” You sat down heavily again on the rock. “With me?”

“Aye.” The word was clipped, barely a syllable.

You sighed, patting the stump beside you. “Dwalin. Please.”

His sigh echoed yours as he took a seat, slumping forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. His air of dejection stirred your sympathy, and you reached tentatively to lay your hand on his sinewy forearm, pleased to find that he didn’t shake you off, as you’d feared, but only looked in surprise between your hand and your face.

“How long have you felt this way?”

“I reckon I’ve been smitten since the day I laid eyes on you,” he admitted, with a humorless laugh. “I know I’ve a funny way of showing it.”

“I thought you couldn’t stand me,” you confessed.

“Couldn’t stand you?” Dwalin looked stricken. “Far from it, lass. Couldn’t stand my own weakness, more like. I’ve seen my fair share of battle, but nothing’s frightened me like the thought of telling you what you mean to me. I was a right coward, trying to pretend I didn’t care for you.”

“I wish you hadn’t,” you said wistfully. “I’ve watched you with your friends, with Balin…seen you be kind and loyal and funny…and I’ve wished I could know you like they do.”

Carefully, as though it were made of glass, he took your hand between his rough, calloused palms, curling his thick fingers to envelop it entirely. “I’m sorry. I’ve been a grumpy bugger and a fool…I ought to have treated you like a queen instead of trying to push you away,” he said, his rugged features creasing with an apologetic smile. “I know I’ve no reason to hope, but if you could ever think of me, I swear by my axes, I’d be so good to you.”

You had watched him closely as he spoke, touched by this unknown reserve of gentleness within the battle-hardened warrior, and your heart warmed to his unpolished but no less heartfelt suit. With a smile blooming on your lips, you moved your fingers to entwine them with his.

“How about we put everything that’s happened behind us and start fresh…pretend we’ve only just met,“ you offered, “and I think maybe we could be good to each other.” 

Dwalin’s face came alight with a relieved grin. “Dwalin, at your service,” he said playfully, leaning close to rest his forehead lightly against your own in a careful imitation of concussive dwarven greetings that made you smile all the more widely. One of his large hands came to fondly pat your cheek, and he cast a glance at your sling.

“Now, how’s the arm, really?”

You chuckled sheepishly. “Well, now that I’m not too proud to admit it to you, it hurts like the devil.”

His clasp on your hand tightened. “Will you promise me to be more careful? Please?”

“But now I have even more reason to look out for you,” you reminded him, smiling, and he laughed as he lifted your hand to his lips for a bristly kiss.

“Lassie, I’ll wager you’ll scarcely be able to feed yourself supper for a week. Don’t plan to fight any battles.”

“Fair enough,” you grinned. “And speaking of supper, it smells like Bombur’s about ready to dish up. Will you sit and eat with me, Dwalin?”

There was a softening in Dwalin’s expression, as though he was humbled by your simple request for his company. 

He smiled, gallantly helping you to your feet. “Until you tell me to leave, sweet.”


End file.
